Happy.

Jack dangled his bare feet in the water, swaying softly side to side, creating ripples in the water with his toes. The jagged rock he was sat upon started to painfully dig into his flesh, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. It was so quiet near the Falls; except for the rushing of the water and the surrounding nature, breathing with life that the boy envied. Jack soaked it all in, trying to let it provide some sort of meaning.

I’ll find it here, he thought. An answer.

Something tickled Jack’s big toe, he dropped his eyes and saw a tiny tadpole, tapping him. He smiled a little. This was the first friendly interaction he had in a long time. This tadpole had no idea who Jack was or what his secrets were, and it didn’t care. It just saw him as another thing. No judgment. It wasn’t the nicest feeling in the world for him. Marcus, he named the tadpole, kept swimming circles around his submerged feet. Then, another joined! This one was Macy. Marcus and Macy. What a cute couple, he admired.

While watching them, Jack noticed the light reflecting off the water had started to dim. The once bright light filtering through the trees was also fading, restored with bluer tones. The air gained a chill to it, making the boy pull his flannel tighter around his body. This was his least favorite time of day, it meant he had to return home. Or, better described, the place he slept. Home didn’t really exist to him, but this rock next to this waterfall was the closest thing to it he could feel.

“Where were you? You better not have been snooping on those boys again. Coach told me all ‘bout what you do sometimes.”

Jack tenses his hands on his backpack straps. He could feel his chest constricting.

“No, I wasn’t snooping on anyone Pop. I was just out for a walk.”

His dad kept his neck craned from around his recliner, eyes searching his son’s for deception. Football was on in the background, filling the room with white noise. “You better not been. I don’t need this town talking about us. Folks already thinkin’ you're strange. Can’t say I disagree with ‘em much.”

Jack tries not to make a face. It’s not that he didn’t already know that about the town’s thinking, but he doesn’t need his strangeness confirmed by his own father. He missed the warm words of his mother, but life seemed to take everything comforting away from Jack. The solemn boy shuffles his feet a little, holding back tears in his eyes. Looking at the floor, he offers a weak “Sure Pops. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

His father huffs. “Just get,” gesturing to his son’s room. He turns back to the screen and takes a loud slurp from his beer bottle, grunting and re-adjusting his disturbed peace.

In his room, Jack pulls out the magazines stuffed under his bed and throws himself onto his mattress. He paid off a girl last week to get these for him, he doesn’t need the store clerk knowing his business. Especially because the guy knows his father. He flips through a few pages, blurs of naked men fly by. He pretends to admire a few but stops on his favorite. The man in the picture looks like a young Tom Selleck, with a mustache greased to perfection and a sensual, alluring look on his face. He’s sitting on a square dining table, one leg propped up and the other dangling off the end. The bright lighting shows off the man’s tan lines, from right below his navel to right above his upper thigh. Just looking at the picture makes Jack nervous, like the man is looking back, inviting him in but also judging his desires. It feels dangerous. His skin is rising in temperature.

A beer bottle falls to the floor in the living room and makes Jack's whole body jump. He quickly stuffs the magazine back under his bed and lays down, staring at his yellowed ceiling. It doesn’t matter, he has the picture memorized. From behind closed eyelids, he can see the man’s supple but slightly hairy skin, his toned body, and tempting smirk.

Jack shakes himself out of it, feeling dirty. He runs his hand over the cracked wall that his bed is pushed against, wanting to mend it. It feels temporary though, as if not worth fixing. Will this be my whole life, he wonders. Hiding, hating, wanting, shaming, running. Jack heard on a show once that you have to be your own home, your own safety, or you’ll forever be dissatisfied with what you have. He hoped that wasn’t true. He didn’t even like himself most of the time. It was exhausting for him to constantly play the part of the only living solace available to him. Never mind, he thinks. I’ll just go back to the Falls again tomorrow. It’ll be okay.

The rest of the night he continues to stare at that crack, his mind blank. He finally falls asleep around six in the morning, thirty minutes before he has to be up again for school. He won’t remember it, but he’ll dream of a warm hug and gentle rocks.

***

Out of tissues, Jack holds his sweatshirt sleeve up to his nose. He thought it stopped running, but he watched a drop of blood fall onto the dusty trail. Today wasn’t a good day at school, to say the least. Rumors are spreading even worse than before. He got accused of peeping in the guy’s locker rooms. Was it his fault that the school system forces them all to get undressed in the same room? He didn’t understand. All the cool, popular guys didn’t have a problem fake kissing each other and humping for everyone to see and laugh at, but as soon as Jack takes his eyes off the floor he’s a pervy freak. Bunch of stupid repressed hypocrites, he stews miserably.

He keeps stumbling through the worn trail, wanting to reach his favorite spot. Sniffling, wiping his nose, he keeps his head down. He’s thought about running away before, finding his own home in this world, but he never does, fearing something worse might happen. He’s only ever known this cruel town, yet the thought of the rest of the world treating him the same keeps him in place. Would I be accepted anywhere? He kicks a rock down the trail. He feels like that rock, he observes. Constantly being stepped on and kicked around, without any type of will, just year after year of being sedentary, subject to the universe’s whim. Worn. Miniscule. A moment in other people’s lives. Meaningless. He kicks a bigger rock into the woods, not minding the pain that shoots through his toes.

Thud. “Ouch!”

Jack jumps back, eyes scouring the woods. He debates on answering the cry of pain, but settles on, “h-hello? Oh, um--sorry!”

A few feet away, a boy sits up from his spot on the forest floor, groaning in pain. “It’s all good,” he gives a thumbs up. “That was just my head. No biggie. Probably won’t even bruise. Wait, there’s blood. It might.”

From here, Jack could see that the boy was around his age. His dark brown hair was matting to a cut on his forehead, and thick round-rimmed glasses were slightly slipping off his nose. Not that Jack was looking at his body, but he was wearing a tight moss green sweater and beige corduroy bottoms. Without control, Jack’s heart started to beat a little faster. He worried the other boy might see it thumping from his neck all the way from where he was sitting.

The unknown boy holds up the book he was reading and explains, “Sorry if I scared you. I like to come out here sometimes to read. You know, just get out of town for a while. Plus, this is the perfect setting for this one.” Jack squints and leans forward. Maurice? By E.M. Forster, he notes.

He informs Jack that “It’s a classic,” giving him a little smirk. “What’re you doing all the way out here though? Oh let me guess, you like throwing hard objects in the woods in hopes of wounding frail nerdy boys like me. I thought I could escape you goons outside of school.”

Jack’s palms sweat a little so he wipes them on his jeans and nervously brushes his blonde hair out of his eyes. He was too taken aback to laugh at the boy’s jab. “Oh, um, see I’m walking to this spot by the waterfall. I like to go there sometimes, to be alone, and uh--”

“Oh yeah, I understand that,” the bleeding boy interjects. “This town is so insufferable. Filled with a bunch of backward conformists. Well, not you I’m sure.” He leans back on his elbows, tilting his head to the side, returning the once-over Jack gave him earlier.

The boys hold a stare then, intrigued by one another. Stuck.

“What’s your name by the way?” Forest boy gives Jack a small smile, switching to a charming tone.

“I’m J-jack.” He curses himself for stuttering.

“Hi Jack, my name's Happy.” Jack’s eyes widened a little. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. But can’t say my forehead thinks the same.”

“That’s your real name? Not that it’s not,” he looks around for a word, “unique.”

“Yes.” Happy sighs. “My parents thought it might pre-destine my future or something. And they’re hippies,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s stupid, but it’s kind of grown on me. At least it’s not, like, Howard, right?”

Jack gives a genuine hard laugh, “Yeah.” Who is this boy? he wonders in amazement.

***

The sun warms Jack’s skin, relaxing his tensed muscles. He looks to the side, at Happy. He takes a moment to study the boy’s face. He has soft brown freckles scattered around his high cheekbones, his lips are full and the color of a pink rose, his glasses rest on the bridge of his nose, which is tinged with pink on the end from the glow of the sun. He’s like a painting, Jack gawks. He turns his face away again, pretending he didn’t look. But he doesn’t see Happy’s little smile, taking the compliment of the staring.

“Thanks for inviting me to this place. It is as beautiful as you said. Who knew. And all this time I’ve been reading on a dirt patch with worms crawling in my pockets.”

“Yeah.” Jack responds. “I like to lay in the sun when it’s out and just kind of waste time. If you don’t mind me a-asking, what’s that book you’re reading about?” He gestures to it lying on the boy’s chest. Jack doesn’t read a lot, besides the magazines. His dad would rather spend money on beer and gambling than entertainment for his son. Nonetheless, the boy was interested in Happy’s.

Giving his companion a quick sideways glance, he offers “Do you wanna borrow it? This is my third time reading it, so I already know what happens.”

He turns his full body to Happy this time, “You’d let me borrow it? You don’t even know me.”

“You invited me to this place, and you don’t even know me. I think we’ve established some sort of basis of trust. Here, take it.” He thrusts it against Jack’s chest, whose hands fumble to catch it and brush Happy’s. For a few seconds, their fingers linger against one another’s. Butterflies fill Jack’s stomach, but he doesn’t take his fingers away, letting them savor a friendly touch.

“I’m sorry about your forehead by the way.”

“That’s ok man. It looks like you’ve been through the ringer today too.” Happy brushes his fingers against Jack’s dried bloody nose, then quickly stands up.“I gotta get going, but let’s say to meet back here tomorrow around four o’clock? You can tell me what you think of the book so far.” Jack nods, “Plus, I think I’m willing to take the risk of losing the book to see you again.”

The boys continue to meet a few times a week at the same spot. Jack will read a few chapters of the book and discuss them in-depth with Happy. They will talk for hours until the sun goes down, and then they are forced to return to their separate houses. Jack's stomach tingles every time he thinks of the Falls now. Because it’s associated with a beautiful boy and thoughtful conversation. He didn’t think it was possible that anyone in this town could hold a conversation without judgment of some kind, weighing behind their voices and glances. Jack bets that Happy has just not heard the rumors. At least, he hopes so. He can’t lose his only real friend.

Two months later, the boys lie back in the same spot at the waterfall as when they first met. They are on their third book together, this time it’s Lord of the Flies. They both hate it but love to discuss it, if only to bag on it.

Jack was zoning out, staring at Happy, whose mouth kept moving at a rapid pace, forming the words that were coming out so nicely. His hands were also gesturing wildly, but Jack could only notice how slender and soft they looked. Happy is wearing a bright yellow turtleneck today, protecting his body from the chilling November air. His hair also looked extra nice, brown bouncy curls fell onto his forehead that were begging to be brushed back. If it was possible, Jack wanted to melt into Happy. He just looks so warm…

“--reminds me too much of the stupidity of the male gender. Like, don’t get me wrong, I love not bleeding every month like a girl, but sometimes I wish I wasn’t a boy. It’s exhausting to defend my gender when I know women are far more capable and just haven’t been given the opportunity to show it.”

Jack nods lazily, mouth slightly open. Happy finally looks over and gives him a funny look. “What?” he laughs a little breathlessly. “Was I ranting too much again?”

“No,” he reassures him. “You never rant too much.”

“What is it then? You’re looking at me as if I’m an ice cream cone.”

“I just--I dunno. I’m sorry. You’re just, really great.” Embarrassed, Jack looks away. Oh god, I said too much, he worries.

A few seconds later, he feels soft fingers under his chin, pulling it to the left, where his eyes meet Happy’s. “I’m great?”

Jack nods his head up and down, at a loss for further explanation.

“I think you’re great too.”

Filled with a sudden urge to do something genuine, Jack whispers to him “Can I tell you something?” His heart is beating rapidly, but he’s never felt like throwing more caution to the wind.

“Sure.” Happy whispers back. His fingers fall to Jack’s hand, where they continue to rest.

“I--you sort of,” he pauses. “Feel like home.”

Happy breathes out a held breath. “That’s really crazy.”

Jack gets scared. He pulls away slightly and hurriedly wonders aloud, “It is? Why?”

Happy pulls his face back in with his other hand, “Because I feel the same way. I don’t know what it is, but I never feel more like myself than when I’m with you. And--I feel so lucky when I get to be around you.”

Jack exhales slightly, but it does nothing to calm his nerves. He raises his right hand and places it against Happy’s heart, feeling it flutter like crazy under his touch. It’s solid, uncracked, whole.